


Run Around, Run Around, Run Around

by HurricanesatDawn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Play, Fingering, I fail so hard at life, M/M, Rimming, Seduction through food, because the world needs more of Jim dominating Seb, sub!Sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:11:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurricanesatDawn/pseuds/HurricanesatDawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A man like Sebastian doesn't submit to just anyone. He doesn't give in to the first person to smack him around, and tell him to get onto his knees. A man like Sebastian doesn't submit because he's told to do it.</p>
<p>And a man like Jim isn't going to rush the pleasure of dominating such a rare thing. A man like Jim doesn't need to tie someone down and beat them up to make them submit. No, a man like Jim would take an entire evening to do it. One sensation at a time; because the truest form of submission is when someone like Sebastian is brought to the point of utter mindlessness purely from touch, from taste, from the feeling of hands and lips on his body.</p>
<p>So who better for the job?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Around, Run Around, Run Around

The door opens, and Jim doesn’t look over at it. His eyes are on the clock above the window, just across from where he’s sitting, his eyebrows knitting together in a concerned looking frown.

“‘Lo, boss,” Sebastian breezes past him once the door has been shut and locked again, the paper bags his carrying making a distinct sound as he sets them down on the kitchen table. They crinkle and rustle, and Jim’s eyes narrow.

“Korean, is it?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah, boss. I gotcha Korean. I know y’like it an’ all…” he drops off, and out of the corner of his eye, Jim can see him scratching the back of his neck.

He finally looks over, twisting his neck almost painfully far. “Do you know what time it is, ‘Bastian?” 

“Uh-” Sebastian glances at the clock, leaning over the table to do it. It’s a suspicious question, not just because Jim already knows, but because Jim just doesn’t ask questions like that. There’s something more to it, and it’s a clear trap. “Ten minutes past. Why?”

“Ten minutes past what?”

“…seven.”

“I see,” the line of Sebastian’s throat goes uneven, and Jim drags his eyes back up to the man’s face. “And what time did you text to say that you’d just pulled up into the car park?”

“Oh,” the man’s eyes light up with understanding, and then he flinches, barely visible, just a tensing around the eyes. “I- Jim-”

“Shh, pet,” Jim shakes his head, a worried no. “Not Jim. You know the rules.”

“Sorry, _sir,”_  he swallows again, clenching his jaw tightly, but he refuses to bow his head. Jim allows it, just barely. “Would y’like me t’getcha a plate?” he changes the subject artfully, and Jim arches his eyebrow, no response forthcoming.

He holds out his hand instead, and Sebastian stares at it, suspicious and entirely unsure of what it could possibly mean. “S _ir?_ ” he drags out the syllable, making the honourific sound as disrespectful as it ever possibly could.

“Go wash up,” Jim orders him, and he straightens on instinct.

“Si-” he starts to say.

“You know what I mean,” the man purrs at him, and he nods, his feet moving on instinct towards the hall. “Good boy,” Jim calls out after him, and he hears the bags moving after a second.

So maybe Jim isn’t mad at him.

He’s quick in the washroom, only taking a minute or two, careful not to sacrifice his thoroughness, and before returning, he nabs a new shirt. Running his fingers through his hair, he lets out a breath, moving slowly down to meet up with Jim again.

The man is sitting in the recliner, which is unusual in itself, with the plastic containers carefully settled next to him on the table. One glass of water, one set of utensils.

Sebastian’s stomach protests the idea with an audible growl.

“Come,” he’s instructed, and he does, standing still just above Jim, his eyes blank of any easily discernible emotion. Even though he knows that Jim can still read him like a children’s book. “Sit.”

“…sir?” he glances around, a niggling thought telling him what Jim means, but he ignores it. “Dun’ I get…yunno,  _a chair?”_

“Floor.”

“…right.”

He could say no. He could turn around and go back into the last room down the hall, his bedroom, and lock the door. He could have a wank that would prove altogether unsatisfactory, fall asleep with an empty stomach that won’t stop yelling at him for food, and arms devoid of the warmth of another body inside them.

He drops carefully to his knees.

They protest, and he shifts, until he’s more comfortable, watching Jim with a look of mixed amusement and curiousity. “Like this, sir?” he taunts, appreciating the way the man’s teeth click together.

“Good enough, I suppose,” Jim tells him airily, and he holds in a laugh. “Move a little closer.”

Frowning, he wiggles  _— hating to call it that —_  closer, until he can rest his arms on the recliner’s cushion.

A hand slaps them away.

“At your sides.”

“Right.”

He drops them with a sigh, giving Jim an unimpressed look. “Anythin’ else, while I’m at it?”

“No.” It’s as simple as that. Jim doesn’t look at him again, turning to his food, and internally he groans.

He’s just shut his eyes to perhaps catch some uncomfortable sleep until Jim decides he’s interesting again, but the fingers catching along the bottom of his chin make him freeze. “Open,” the man murmurs softly, and he does, both his mouth and his eyes, very slowly.

In Jim’s hand is a pair of chopsticks, a mouthful of food caught between the pieces of wood. There’s just enough steam rising from them that he can tell it’s warm, and his stomach growls, the smell drifting through his nostrils to make him even hungrier than before. He opens his mouth further, to say something, but then the wood slides into his mouth, and it tastes as good as it smells.

The slide of the noodles make him moan, eyes drifting shut, lips closing around the chopsticks as they slide back out from his mouth. “God, Jim,” he mumbles through the bite, forgetting himself for a moment as he enjoys it. It’s delicious, enough to make his head spin funny, and he savours it as he chews, finally letting it slide down his throat.

It’s almost the best thing he’s ever eaten in his entire life. “Shit,” he whispers, and when he opens his eyes, Jim is smirking at him again. Not taunting him, or mocking him, just pleased.

“Good?” he asks lowly, and Sebastian nods, licking his lips to catch the last traces of the bite from them. “Wonderful.” His chopsticks moves back into the same container as before, and he has to catch himself from parting his lips automatically for it.

It ends up being the right decision, because the hand leaves his chin, and Jim’s tilting his own head back, eating the bite instead of giving it to Sebastian. 

He mourns the loss, but enjoys the way Jim’s eyes shut, jaw moving as he takes it down. His pristine throat bobs, and the line of Sebastian’s trousers start to feel tight around his cock.

Licking his lips pointedly, he waits, his hands somehow frozen now. He’s enjoying this, that much even he can tell about himself.

“Now, now,” Jim murmurs, and it startles him, blinking, “don’t get greedy on me, pet. Just for that…” he trails off, snagging yet another bite for himself.

Sebastian’s stomach growls again, but he refuses to kick himself internally.

“Sorry, sir,” he finally says, after a long pause, and Jim nods like the ridiculous twat that he is, accepting it.

“Good boy.” The next bite slides up to his lips, and they’re parted before its halfway there, mouth open plenty wide to take it in, lips closing around the chopsticks immediately. He smiles up at Jim, on instinct, his eyes bright as he circles his tongue around the noodles, letting them drag slowly into his mouth.

There’s something undeniably seductive about this.

Which could possibly be attributed to the fact that he hasn’t eaten all day. Or had sex in three.

But that doesn’t matter, because the chopsticks are escaping, and he has to frown, wanting more, even as he the bite melts in his mouth.

_Food is sexy -_  he decides.

“You’re such a good darling,” and he’ll deny it later, but something inside him arches like a feline, and he’s purring ever so quietly, pressing up against the fingers that tickle at his chin.

“Am I, sir?” he asks, despite himself, swallowing. “Am I,  _really?”_

It makes Jim laugh. “Close enough,” he says again, and Sebastian resists the painfully strong urge to lean up and kiss the smile from his lips. He doesn’t get to see that sort of smile very often, and it hurts his chest.

“More?” 

“Mm, I’m hungry, too, pet.” Jim’s eyes close, and he feeds himself on instinct, one bite after another, slow and methodical, until Sebastian’s cock is straining rudely against his trousers, and he wants to claw his way up. Do the same thing to Jim that’s being done to him now. Then fuck him, of course.

“No.” The word is sharp, and his pout is automatic. Of course Jim would know what he’s thinking, even with his eyes shut, and moaning pornographically over a bite of Janchi guksu.

Annoying twat.

“Hungry,” he says slowly, knowing that his words might delay any more food going into his stomach. “I. Am. _Hungry.”_

“So am I,” Jim counters, and he flicks his fingers, catching the side of Sebastian’s nose. “You keep forgetting your manners.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Do I get more, or should I jes’ plan t’fall asleep?”

“Oh, darling,” and Jim sounds like a child in a toy store for the first time. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. I’ll be keeping you far too busy to have you falling asleep on me. _Open.”_

He opens, and it’s cold, making him frown. _Kimchi._ Not his favourite, he prefers the warmer things, but it’s good all the same, and he chews it the way he did the other bites, with relish, all the way down to swallowing it.

“Yum,” he utters, his eyes growing dark, and Jim pats him on the cheek.

“Bulgogi?” he’s offered, and he nods quickly. 

“If’n y’please.”

The meat warms his mouth, pushing away the cold from the Kimchi, and he groans too loud this time, eyes shutting again. It tastes somehow like sex in his mouth, which he belatedly realises is a horrible analogy, but he doesn’t care. It tastes good, the chopsticks lingering along his lips after he swallows, and he chases after them, wrapping his tongue around them so he can lick across their length.

Above him, Jim clicks his teeth, and he knows the man is laughing, which is why he puts on a deliberate show, dragging his lips across as he stares up through his eyelashes.

Jim swallows hard, and it’s mission accomplished.  _More or less._

The chopsticks are set back down, and Jim reaches for the glass, bringing it to his own lips first for a sip. “Thirsty?” he asks when he’s done, not waiting for an answer before he lowers it to Sebastian, pressing the rim up to the man’s mouth.

Not taking the time to nod, Sebastian parts his lips, letting the water trickle between them, just enough to swallow without threatening to choke him. Jim is surprisingly good at this, just like he is at feeding someone else.

“More?” is the first thing from his lips once the glass is down again, and Jim sneers now, but it’s not quite vicious.

“More?” he repeats mockingly, suddenly wielding the chopsticks in a manner that is surprisingly intimidating. He looks like he might shove them up Sebastian’s nose is the man isn’t careful with his next words.

Not speaking, he does what Jim probably wanted to start, and he bows his head, breathing out heavily through his mouth.

He can almost feel the tension fade from Jim’s body  _— faked or no —_  and then he can hear the sounds of chewing. Bite after bite, none going into his own mouth, and he has to ignore the complaining of his own body.

A good five minutes pass, at least, in which he doesn’t move, barely breathing above a whisper, and Jim taunts him with grunts and moans over each bite. He can almost taste every single one as it slides down the man’s throat, and he wants nothing more than to follow them, to wrap himself in Jim’s body.

By now, his cock seems to have given up on hopes of actually getting relief. It’s still as hard as ever, but the feeling is no longer as overpowering, and he can ignore it. Almost, that is, and every time his thoughts stutter over Jim’s body, it twitches and he has to bite his lip.

“Please,” he finally whispers, breaking his own silence, and for a moment, he doesn’t think Jim heard him. But he does, and a hand moves to his throat, soft fingers curling around his skin, and he’s lifted back up. Their eyes meet, and Jim’s are blank.

“Again, darling?”

He has to swallow.  _“Please.”_

“Please, what?”

_“Please…sir.”_

“Good, good,” and his eyes go shut again, just as the little wooden utensils settle into his mouth. He can’t recognise the dish, but it’s warm, and intoxicating, so he doesn’t try to analyse it. It floats through his mouth, every flavour confusing in their potency, and they don’t leave once it goes down his throat.

It seems to burn passing through his oesophagus, somehow still feeling good, and just as it disappears, another bite is pressed to his mouth. The chopsticks dig into his tongue, threatening him, and he swallows around them.

“Th’nk y’sir,” he mutters in the reprieve, when no more mouthfuls seem like they’re going to come just get.

The sound of Jim’s chuckle is dizzying.

Bite after bite is fed to him this way, each one better than the last, and then forgotten when the next one comes, until his stomach no longer complains. Until his entire body feels a shiver of warmth pass over it, and he feels more full, and more content than he has in some time.

He’s just about to tell Jim he’s finished, that he doesn’t want anymore, and then lay his head on the cushion, when fingers return. They caress his cheeks, and he blinks up, throat dry as he watches Jim.

The water comes back, and he gulps it down greedily, swallowing every drop allowed him.  _God, it’s good._

“Mm,” the man hums, thumbing across his cheekbone. “You take that so well, don’t you. My delightful little tiger. Pretty boy of mine.”

He doesn’t agree, can’t agree; but nor does he argue it. 

“Back.”

It takes a moment for the command to register, for him to draw back, pushing onto his knees so he can pull away from the recliner. Even longer before he realises why. Jim stands, taking the dishes with him, and wow, all three containers are completely empty.

His eyes track the man’s movements as he prances about the kitchen, getting rid of things, and then his ears perk up when Jim calls out to him. “You know what to do.”

He does know what to do, and his fingers don’t even think about shaking as they pull towards the buttons of his shirt. It’s by instinct that he drags the button up from his shoulders, pressing it into a neatly folded pile under the table. His undershirt goes with it, and his hands are on his belt when Jim comes back.

“So obedient tonight,” Jim murmurs into his ear. He kisses it, the patch of skin just outside, and Sebastian moans. His hands move to brace at Jim’s hips, but they’re stopped sharply, and his eyes snap back open the rest of the way.

“Sir?”

“Trousers,” he’s ordered, and Jim pulls away entirely, leaving Sebastian’s skin feeling all too cold and empty.

There’s the smallest hint of a tremor in his hands when he reaches for the belt, and there’s no way Jim will have missed it. All the same, he doesn’t look up again, eyes fixed on his fingers as they work through the buckle, pausing once both ends are hanging loose.

_“Off,”_  is his only instruction, and he obeys. The button pops through the hole easily, the zip slides down, and he shuffles out of his trousers, taking the pants with them as they go. Might as well make it easier.

It isn’t until he’s tugged each foot from the ends and folded them up crudely, placing them with his shirts, that he moves back and meets Jim’s eyes again. “Sir?” he asks quietly, stilling when Jim shushes him.

“Knees.”

He drops back down without a second thought.

_“Hands behind your back.”_

Carefully, he tucks them back, circling the fingers of one hand around his wrist, locking them in place. His shoulders stay perfectly flat, the line unwavering, and he works on controlling his breathing. On evening it out with careful breaths.  _In. Out. In. Out._

“Look up.”

He has to swallow first, but he obeys, staring up at Jim, fully aware of the vulnerabilities at which he’s putting himself. “Anythin’ els’, sir?”

“Yes,” Jim purrs, taking two steps forward, until Sebastian is about eye level with the man’s crotch. Fingers close around his jaw, tugging it up just a bit, so he’s looking directly at Jim. “You’re so pretty like this,” the man murmurs, so quiet that Sebastian almost wonders if he’s meant to hear it.

Nevertheless, it makes him flush with an undeniable pride, equalled only by his disbelief that the man could really believe that about him. He doesn’t thank Jim, but his eyes flutter, trying to shut on him without permission.

“Tut, tut,” a thumb drags harshly along the side of his mouth, digging into the crease, and it makes his teeth ache just a bit. “No shutting me out, pet.”

“S’rry, sir.”

He swallows, pulse picking up again, and he knows Jim must feel it. That the man must be able to tell how fast his heart is beating, through the way the veins in his neck throb.

Jim clicks his teeth. “Tsk. It’s all right, my pet. _I forgive you.”_

The pressure from the thumb lightens, until it’s just tracing around the rim of his mouth, and he finds himself swaying lightly towards the touch, wanting to feel more of it again. It’s too soft, not enough force, and he wants to part his lips to suck on it. 

It’s tempting to do just that, as the thumb slides across the line of his lips, and they part instinctually, breathing out over it. Sliding deeper into his mouth, he gives in, flicking out his tongue to lick off whatever tastes are there  _— and it’s from their dinner, he can taste noodles again —_ and he whines when it presses harder against him.

The thumb is dug into his teeth, pressing them apart, while still warning him not to bite down, and his chest heaves. He has to suck, absolutely has to, letting his lips falls shut around the man’s flesh, pursing them as he swallows around it. He only has time to swirl his tongue around the tip before it’s withdrawn, and the glare directed at him almost makes it not worth it.

But it doesn’t, and he breathes out, eyes never leaving Jim’s. _‘Please,’_  his lips form the word, not a sound coming out, and Jim’s head begins to oscillate.

“Please what, little tiger?” Jim taunts him, and Sebastian’s eyes fall to his chin, watching the way it moves. “Please.  _What._  Use your words. I know you have them.”

“I don’t-” he chokes on the words, squeezing his eyes shut for just a second, long enough to warrant the slap to the face he receives. It stings, sharp and red, and he breathes in harshly. It’s enough to clear his head, in a manner of speaking.

“Please, sir,” he continues, eyes growing wider, forcing himself not to make the same mistake again. “Please… Take me apart.  _Use-_   _use me.”_

“And why should I do that?”

_“Because- because_   _I need you.”_

He feels ashamed, almost, the words bringing a heat to his skin, that travels up his neck. Jim doesn’t seem to mind, and the back of the man’s hand actually comes down gently, stroking him. “And?”

He sways into contact that’s barely there, that’s pulling away.

_“And-”_  his cock throbs, leaking a drop of precome that feels like it’s smearing along the inside of his thigh. “And only you-  _only you know what I need from you._  Not even- not even I kn-know.”

Saying it sends a pulse of something through his chest, through the chambers of his heart, and he can’t tell if it’s relief or unadulterated fear. But it seems to lighten his shoulders, his breath catching as he drifts.

“Good boy,” and Jim rewards him with an absolutely beatific smile, that he wants to appreciate more than he can, for longer than the seconds he has with it before the man drops down to meet him at his level.

Lips press against his skin, tracing along the sides of his face, planting warm, wet kisses along his nose, over his eyebrows, and down his chin. They don’t touch his lips once, no matter how they quiver, and he holds in a groan. Every kiss makes him shiver, wanting more, and then the next feels like too much. Too much sensation, surrounding him, and he’s spinning out of control.

The lips finally come to rest just at corner of his lips, not actually touching them, and he can feel the tip of Jim’s tongue licking him, drawing out further for a long stripe, and he does moan now, skin tingling.

_“J-J-”_  his neck is pushed to the side by hands he didn’t notice coming up, one in his hair, stroking through it, and the other with just fingers under his chin again. Jim’s lips trail down his jaw, in a pattern he can’t figure out, laving the sweetest, most gut wrenching kisses down to the arch of his neck.

That’s where he bites. Teeth dig into his shoulder, hard enough to feel it, hard enough to bruise, hard enough to make him cry out softly. But not hard enough to do damage, or even break the skin more than a little.

It’s perfectly made, because even when the teeth withdraw, pulling away entirely, he can still feel them. Can still imagine them imbedded in his flesh, can feel the jaw clamping tighter, harder down on him, until he’s bleeding; dripping blood down his naked body.

“Lay back now, darling,” is nipped into his ear; and he falls, without fear for his body, onto the carpeted floor. He lands with a thump, groaning softly, eyes widening with further comprehension, but he makes no move to sit up. He stares at Jim, his lips feeling dry, and his heart like it’s not there anymore.

His hands are bent uncomfortably behind him, but he doesn’t shake loose his hold on his own wrist, letting them sit at an awkward angle until Jim tells him otherwise.

But Jim doesn’t follow him down. Not immediately, at least, and he’s given a bit of a show. Getting to watch as Jim deftly undoes the buttons of his suit jacket, stripping it carefully from his body to lay it across the chair.

The man doesn’t roll up his sleeves, instead going for his tie, ignoring Sebastian now, as he unknots it, and folds it up for the table.

The next thing he knows, Jim is looming over him, face directly in front of his, and he can feel hot breath against his lips, making him shake under the pressure. Not a single part of his body is being touched by Jim, and yet it feels like he’s being overwhelmed by the sensation of being completely surrounded.

He opens his mouth to say something  _— ‘Jim’,_ perhaps, or another _‘sir’,_ maybe _‘please’ —_  but only air comes out, hard and painful, and he whines, wanting to nuzzle up against Jim’s face.

“Hush now, pet,” Jim croons, and finally _— finally —_  the hand comes back, stroking his face again. It presses harder, manipulating his senses, nails digging into the edges of Sebastian’s hairline. “You’re safe now…” and the man lowers his head, bypassing his lips to kiss the underside of his chin, down to his Adam’s apple.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he continues, humming into Sebastian’s skin. “Absolutely stunning.”

He whines, hips staying still, but still straining up for more contact, and he finds himself staring up at the ceiling. All he can see is the white paint as Jim’s lips move lower and lower, and he’s just about to twist his head, try and look down, when the man bites down again.

_“Stay,”_  he warns, in a low whisper, and Sebastian feels the pinprick sensation of hands nearly touching his shoulders, bracketing him into place. A tongue swirls around one of his nipples, and he gasps, arching up purely on instinct.

The way the teeth dig in is both a warning and a reward.

He has to bite down on his lips, tasting copper, before he can force his body back down, keep from thrusting up towards those teeth. They don’t let go, only biting harder, tongue digging out to tickle the very tip and his eyes scrunch together.

It hurts, and it tickles, and most importantly, his cock is throbbing so hard he can feel it echoing through his brain.

_“Ah!”_  it almost hurts more when Jim finally releases it, not even caring to soothe the burn before he’s moving to the other side, lapping at the patch of skin in between, and circling the other nipples with his teeth. They feel so sharp all of a sudden, against his skin, even before they go in, and he’s gasping for air. It feels like he can’t breathe, only able to fit air into his lungs again when they pierce their way through the skin

His head jerks back, even further, and his hands are full of pins and needles, but it doesn’t matter, because Jim is biting him, and his nipples are so sensitive at the best of times. But now, he wants to cry, because it’s so good, so bad, and so perfect all at once.

The teeth pull back too soon, and he’s groaning, desperate, wanting more, and at the same time so completely relieved that it’s over. His chest stings, and though Jim only bit down in two places, his entire torso feels like it’s on fire somehow.

He feels the scratch now, of Jim’s trousers against his thighs, digging harshly into his skin, and his mouth goes dry. Jim keeps moving lower, barely lingering over each patch, just long enough to get him wet, rubbing him raw with his tongue, and then he goes down. Until he’s just above Sebastian’s cock.

It feels like he’s going to choke on his own tongue, as Jim breathes over it deliberately, the air from his lips tickling at the tip, and he begs silently for the man to  _please, please touch him._

But he doesn’t.

Jim’s head ducks down, but it moves past his cock, to his thighs, pressing his wet lips inside his legs. He almost, but not quite, can feel the phantom sensation of something brushing his cock, but it’s imagined, and he feels dizzied, trying to not to jerk as Jim licks across his skin.

Fingers pry at his legs, pushing them further apart, and then one up until the foot is planted firmly on the ground. Jim kisses what feels like every centimeter of his thighs, his hips, down all the way to his knees, and back up, until the air stings cold from the wet. His lips never seem to tire or stop, delighting in the way Sebastian twitches, groaning every time the man gets close to his cock, and then louder when the mouth trails further away.

He can’t see straight anymore. Even the paint has somehow become nothing more than a blurred mess, filled with black spots, and this should really not be so incredibly painful. But it is, because Jim is touching him, but at the same time, he’s not touching him, and that makes it worse.

Finally, when the man does seem to tire at least a tiny bit, he feels Jim’s tongue flick out, barely a nanosecond of sensation across the very tip of his cock, licking away the precome bubbling there.

He almost screams.

Moaning softly under his breath, Jim chuckles, both sounds audible to Sebastian’s ringing ears.

_“Turn over, my darling,”_  is whispered into his hip, and it takes a second to register. It really does, because he can’t remember how to move, or even that he can move anymore. Whimpering, he finally does, pushing his hands out from under him for just a little bit of support as he rolls over onto his stomach.

The contact of his cock against the carpet makes him cry out, and Jim pats his leg like he understands entirely.

A pillow pushes at his hips, and he shifts up, able to hold himself just high enough for Jim to wedge it underneath him before he collapses again. 

His face is smushed into the carpet, saliva building up in the back of his throat, and he’d close his eyes, now that Jim can’t see him, but his body screams that he can’t. That Jim will know; because Jim always knows that sort of thing.

Gentle hands pry at his legs now, pushing one until it’s tucked up to the side, curling, leaving his arse more or less presented in the air, like he’s a particularly tasty treat on a buffet table. He groans, scrabbling at the floor to hold himself like this better, only to have Jim’s cheek pressed to the back of one of his thighs.

“Darling… You are absolutely gorgeous like this. Did you know that?” the way Jim chuckles vibrates through him, and it's a low, near orgasmic sound. “But I want you to do something for me,” his voice continues, and it sounds enthralling, so much so that Sebastian finds himself nodding earnestly, his nose rubbing into the floor.

“Stretch your arms above your head,” he’s told, “lock them together, like before.”

His arms twitch, trying to obey, reaching up, and the shift in pressure it creates brings a delicious change over his body. “Be a good boy for me,” and a kiss is placed on his left buttock, making him twitch backwards.

His hands slot together, and he stills, breathing heavily as he’s rewarded with another kiss, like the first. “Yes, yes,” the man purrs into his skin. You are _…a delight_  to have like this. You really are.”

_“Please-”_  the word presses from his lips before he can stop it.

“Hush now,” teeth nip at his skin, a littler harder than necessary, and the flush it creates seems to spread across his entire backside. “No begging.  _Not now.”_

With a groan, he turns his head so he can breathe again, cheek to the carpet, eyes focused on the bottom of the sofa.

“Yes,  _my beautiful tiger,”_  and there’s something in Jim’s voice. Something that warms Sebastian’s stomach, that makes him ache all over, and feel funny things. Jim sounds pleased with him. “I only wish…I had the time more often to have you like this, but, well-” the thought is left unfinished, and Sebastian would agree with it, if not for the fingers that move to press apart his arse cheeks. They thumb across, in a less than gentle massage.

“Don’t move, pet,” is murmured, one last instruction before the sound goes muffled, and it’s as if Jim’s entire face is being pressed into his arse, buried. It feels wet, when Jim licks a long stripe across the tight furl of muscle, and he cries out again it, encouraged by the moan from the man.

He’d cleaned himself thoroughly, just like Jim had instructed him to do, and it’s got to taste like soap down there, more than anything. He’s even tasted that soap before. The gentle luxurious flavour and smell of cinnamon, that creeps along the edges of the lips, and Jim nuzzles closer. He can feel the man breathing him in, and his thighs quiver, shaking under the pressure of Jim’s hands.

From the angle, Jim has to be on his knees, risking annoying wrinkles in his trousers, but for some reason it doesn’t stop him. There’s something about this that the man loves, the intimacy of going down on someone, of having this sort of control, having them shake around you, as you twist your tongue inside them.

Sebastian can feel the puff of air across his spit slick hole, and it contracts _— he can feel that, too —_  as he groans, biting it back with his lips. The tongue comes back, before he’s recovered, and Jim’s nose brushes against him, the wetness curling. It swipes over him, feeling more like liquid every time, a tongue laving across his arse in repeated succession.

His back arches as he sobs against the floor.

It’s dizzying, and overpowering, the feeling of a mouth on your arse, licking you open, wetting you like that, not caring where you’ve been or who you are, only that the harder they press, the more you relax. The more you feel it. In a way, it’s painful, being driven down like this, wanting to cry and sob, shaking with every flicker of feeling, his body strung so tightly, fighting the need to push back.

He has to fight it, because Jim needs him to stay still, and he can’t remember why, but it’s what Jim wanted, and there isn’t a doubt in his mind that he has to obey. No matter how confused he feels, or how his body screams.

It screams so loud, some of it leaking out the corners of his mouth, and he’s drooling, probably. His face feels wet, clenching all the way down to his toes, his fingers flexing back and forth.

Something is hummed against him, into his hole, and fingers slide lower, just as he’s able to hear it. _“Pet,”_ the sound makes, and he’s gripped tighter, licked harder, pressed further down against whatever it is that’s holding him in place like this.

The taste of soap must be gone by now, because there’s no way it could have more than just clung to him, and Jim has to be tasting him for real at this point. He’s sweating, his entire body aching and locking up, and Jim’s tongue is dancing across his skin.

It must be like pure sex.

That’s enough to draw a whimper from him. _“So good like this,”_  he hears in response, and suddenly white dots splash across his vision, a soundless scream on his lips, something scraping across him.  _Teeth._  He can’t make a noise at first, and then he is, growing in volume, and it feels like he might bite through his own lip.

_“Shh, shh,”_  he’s comforted uselessly, and it’s just background noise. Just things that add to it, that make it worse, as he’s licked open like he’s a bird. Like his arse is a nice, juicy cunt, deliciously wet, and Jim wants it to be thrust back against his face.

He’s sobbing now, unable to tell the difference between that and anything else, as fingers dig along the edges of him, something small and hard prodding at his hole. It’s barely wet as it slips inside, just the tip, and it feels so good he can’t breathe.

_‘More,’_  he wants to beg, _‘please, oh, god, please, more, I need-’_

He thrashes, a fresh groan on his lips, and Jim purrs like a kitten.  _“Darling,”_  he feels more than hears, over the spinning, over the pressure that spirals through his body, leaving him aching for something more. For anything more.

His cock is hard and weeping, dangling forgotten between his legs, fluid dripping from the tip onto the pillow, and Jim doesn’t care. It aches, all the more when the finger presses deeper and-

He screams.

It’s curled, digging until it hits his prostate perfectly, without any real effort, pushing back against it, flicking at it, what must be a half dozen times. No remorse.

He screams until there isn’t anything left in his lungs to make a sound.

There isn’t a single word that passes from his lips, just sound, a rush of sobbing sound, like he can’t think in anything but indistinguishable noise anymore. Or doesn’t have any words left, only the impulses of his body.

He aches.

The finger comes free far too soon, and he’s empty now. It was so small, but it’s gone, and now he needs it back, more than he’d ever realised.

But fingers curl around his hip instead, he’s tugged closer, and the tongue is back, arching against him, digging in as deep inside him as it can possibly go. He’s not that loose, not really, but Jim’s thumbs pull at him, forcing him apart, forcing him to be able to accept it, and his body concedes to the man’s silent demand.

The man’s tongue slips inside him for hardly a second, the muscles pulled apart around it, and then he’s withdrawing, wet swirling around and around, like he’s the top of an ice creamed filled cone.

He feels Jim moan.

Sebastian’s body bends for him, always bends for him like this, giving in with every press  _— even the ones that aren’t there —_  and the muscles in his legs turn to a certain goo, lax in their grip, and he doesn’t know how Jim likes that. He really doesn’t.

Tears are streaming down his face, silent and desperate, and it must be for that, because there’s a kiss across the center of his hole, making him gasp, and then another, and third. They keep coming until he’s lost count, and then they’re not just kisses, they’re wet licking across him, quick and harsh, like a kitten.

It feels like Jim is laughing against him, delighting in something, swirling his tongue, and then perfectly, deliciously, wondrously, the finger slips back inside him.

It goes in easily enough, and he twitches back, unable to stop himself, just in time for the press of a second digit.

With every quirk of the fingers as they wiggle their way inside him, he cries harder, and they twist. Jim’s face comes back, pressing his tongue between them, like a third intrusion. He’s able to get deeper now, Sebastian can feel that, the way it swipes along his insides, along the walls, laving them with what saliva he can, and it feels like they’re warming to that touch.

His body thrums under Jim, and he feels so alive because of it, so incredibly alive, because Jim is loving his body from the inside of him, somehow. Jim is so hot inside him, so warm, every tickle of his senses and overwhelming reminder of how much he belongs to this man.

He’s more than lost himself in this, in Jim, in the sucks, his only awareness from each cry out to another, as the wet face rubs its way across his arse, between his cheeks. The nose presses harsh air against him, presses wet cheeks to his, slick with spit, and eventually the mouth slows down, until Jim is pulling back.

One last regretful kiss, that turns into two, and then a lick across, from his taint to the top of his hole, and he’s so loose he can feel it.

The fingers go with it.

“Good boy,” he hears whispered into the air, and it’s gone now. Everything. Every touch, every sensation.

All he has left is the wet, the feeling the air around them harsh against it, and not even Jim’s breathing, steady and tempered against him.

The warmth from Jim’s hands travels up his spine, a soft pitter patter of touch, tracing every ridge, every scar in his skin, and with that seems to come Jim as well. The drag of the man’s suit across his hypersensitive body makes him inhale sharply, unable to shake where his gaze is stuck, and he clenches his buttocks tightly around nothing.

Nails dig into his flesh on their way up to his shoulders, neither seeming to linger nor rush, as if this alone is a source of great pleasure for the man.

In the corner of his vision, Jim finally appears, just a sliver of his face, hardly enough to understand or see anything, and he obeys the unspoken order, not to dart his eyes out to look. Not trying to turn his head.

He breathes in a sob as Jim’s nails catch on the skin around his abdomen, digging harshly in, and stopping there.

_“What do we say here, my pet?”_

The words are so soft. So quiet; and he barely hears them, might even think them imagined if not for the way they tickle along his hair, making his face feel cold.

_“I- I-”_  his brain feels unusually empty, devoid of understanding about what Jim means, about how to give Jim what he wants, and his chest heaves, body shaking.

“Pet?” comes the drawl again.

_“Sir-”_

Jim hums, pressing his lips along the side of Sebastian’s face, a soft kiss that has him swallowing back some undetermined emotion. “Say it, my darling,” he breathes into Sebastian’s neck.

“Please.”

It’s not quite a sob, but close.

“Say it.”

_“Sir, please, I-”_  he has to swallow, choking back the lump he hadn’t noticed as it formed in his throat. His mind blanks out, words falling from his lips, the first things that want to come.  _“Take- take me,”_  he whispers, gasping at the second kiss, placed on his chin.  _“Have me.”_

“And?”

A third one, down his neck.

_“Own me.”_

“Very good,” the man breathes, and in an instant, he’s gone. Sebastian feels empty, torn open and left in the harsh, unforgiving light of day. His fingers clench together, the only thing he can seem to move, digging them into what flesh of his hands he can, forcing back the pain.

He’s dizzy, unable to think, unable to comprehend what’s happening, why Jim is gone, and why his chest feels like someone has left a huge weight on it, that’s slowly sucking the life from his body. One breath of air at a time.

_Wasn’t he good enough?_

Before the haze can deepen, before things can get worse, and he realises just how weak he feels, there’s a hand in his hair again.

The sob he releases is loud, and he chokes, unable to say anything, to thank Jim. He blinks several times, tears in his eyes, and Jim shushes him, running fingers along the side of his face.

_“Shh, beautiful tiger._   _It’s all right._   _You’re safe, mon amour. You’re safe. I’m here.”_

The sound he makes is like a whimper, wanting to push up against Jim’s hand, throw himself around the man’s body, or have him wrap about Sebastian instead. Push away everything that isn’t Jim, and replace them with all the things that are.

It’s a mind-numbing thought.

The hand leaves, but it’s not the end, and hands pry at his arse again. Two slippery fingers slide along his crack, coaxing at him again, and just as Jim’s lips land on his ear, they sheath themselves inside him.

He groans, unable to push back properly, his breath somehow evening out as Jim works them deeper, not just stretching him, but making him feel both full and so horribly empty at the same time. They bend and curve, sliding along his walls, pressing up higher to get to his prostate, which makes him cry out softly.  _“Please!”_

Jim silences him.

Another finger, prying its way inside, they pull apart, tugging at the edges, thrusting in to mimic actual fucking. They dart in and out of his body, sometimes moving so far out that he clenches down on nothing, and then so deep that he can feel the hard pressure of Jim’s knuckles against the rim, bracing against him.

“Good boy,” Jim whispers to him, and he groans, wanting more, lips moving, mouthing words that aren’t even in English anymore.  _“Open up for me,”_  he tells Sebastian, kissing his forehead. “Let me in. _Let me make you feel whole.”_

They do. They make him feel like everything is all right, panting against the carpet, saliva that he can’t seem to always swallow drying on his chin.

A fourth finger works inside him, and they still then. Jim doesn’t move, save for the air that he expels from his nostrils, and Sebastian can’t help the way he contracts around the digits. They’re not big enough, not deep enough, but they’re what he has, and it’s not something he can avoid. 

Jim bites down hard on his neck, enough to bruise, and he lets out a cry as the man’s teeth mark his skin.

The fingers thrust. _Once. Twice._  Jamming up against his prostate, and how he’s not come yet is suddenly beyond him, because it feels like he has a thousand times by now, the stimulation so perfect, too much.

As quickly as they had originally come, they’re gone, he’s empty and sobbing, with nothing to hold onto save for Jim’s mouth around his skin. His two strongest sensations are the throbbing pressure of blood being drawn to the surface, dragged from the depths of his body, and it hurts like a knife through the gut; and the feeling of absolute, utter emptiness to the very core of his being.

He can’t breathe. Can’t gasp. Can’t speak a word.

The teeth disappear as well, and his head spins. There’s nothing. Black, white, colours swirling around his vision, spots that dart too and fro, circling around his head. The sofa legs seem to melt into the floor, transformed by the colours, by the electricity traveling at phenomenal speeds through his eyelashes.

That’s when he feels it.

The pressure of something much larger brushing ever so lightly against him. It’s hard and almost unfamiliar in the way it pushes into him, but he opens around it like he has no other choice. He doesn’t have a choice, because it’s becoming like another part of his body, digging into him like it's making a home inside him.

It shocks his lungs until they can work again, breathe again, gasping breaths that don’t seem to do anything for his mind. Syllables slip from his lips, not quite words, half spoken pleas, and it keeps going. It never stops, until there’s nothing left to push into him, until the painful sensation of something that’s not right, not skin, up against him.

It brushes along his arse, crinkling, dispassionate, and Jim is completely still in him.

_“What do we say now, pet?”_  the words come over him like a blanket, warm and loving, as if he’s being wrapped up in something soft. Something that will protect him from everything, from the cold chills of his body, from being empty again.

He doesn’t want to be empty ever again.

_“Sir…”_  the word is dry on his lips, cracking on its way out, _“please, sir,”_  and hands brush along his shoulders, his arms. They stretch across his body, and that’s the only skin that seems to touch him.

The cock in his arse doesn’t move, doesn’t quiver, doesn’t even twitch. Not as lips return to his neck. Or as the fingers wrap as far around his biceps as they can go. Not as Jim’s shirt comes to a painful rest along his back, reminding him of something. Something he can’t determine.

“Yes,” is hissed into his ear. “Yes. Make yourself mine…  _Make yourself mine forever.”_

He whimpers.

The drag of Jim’s cock as it pulls back from his body forces a groan from his throat, begging, _‘no please, come back, I need you’._  He doesn’t speak a word. Doesn’t have a word left.

He’s left with just the tip, just a sliver of sensation, and the sound of purring. It vibrates through his head, making his face feel burning hot. _“Sebastian…”_  the man says to him, and he whimpers, _“you’re so beautiful.”_

With those words, he can suddenly feel it coming back. The edge of the knife that was sliding along his skin, it digs in, taking him again. Claiming him. He’s filled again, and it’s such a wonderful feeling. Such a perfect feeling, and those words.

He’s beautiful, Jim says; and he feels it. He feels like he’s enough, like he’s okay, like Jim won’t leave him. Like Jim might love him.

It bubbles up through his chest, just as the length of Jim’s cock presses against his prostate, making his body shake, making him moan. _‘Please,’_  he wants to gasp, his mouth hanging open, and it does it again.

Every few seconds, he’s empty, he’s dying like a fish taken out of his water; and every few seconds, he’s filled with life again.

He can feel every drag of Jim’s cock through him, every time it catches on his skin at the rim, every slip of it along his walls. It works its way through him, not rushing, not impatient, but calm. _Softly._ Like the build up is the best part, and it is, because he can feel Jim’s lips on his face.

One kiss after another, warm, soft, wet, and fingers are rubbing at his muscles, massaging his skin.

His eyes roll back into his head as Jim picks up, going faster, just by a little, pushing into him like a growing warmth that spreads through him. He chokes, every sensation blending together, until he can’t tell them apart.

They’re all the same, every nerve in his body telling him that it’s everything. That every part of his body is being touched, being stroked, being kissed, being pushed into by the warm flesh of Jim’s cock.

The man seems to fuck the breath back out of his body, every time he inhales, another thrust against him, making him choke on it. He feels like he might gag, might pass out, and there’s a hand lower now, maybe.

Or maybe it’s not, but his thigh is being spread further open, nails digging into the flesh of his buttocks, and suddenly Jim is deeper.

He can feel the scrape of a metal zipper across his hole, threatening to bite and cling to his skin, and Jim circles his hips, grinding instead of just thrusting. It goes deeper, the vibration, the warmth.

There are lips on his, just the corner, a tongue flicking its way across his teeth, onto his own tongue.

He can’t move his head, can’t move his tongue or his lips, only feel it, only accept it with every drag against him.

The lips disappear, the head he can barely see isn’t there anymore, and his back feels wet, like its being kissed down. He can’t feel Jim’s shirt anymore, just his cock, just the bones in his fingers, just his nails, and the press of teeth along his spine.

He groans. _“Jim,”_  a barely audible sound, and there’s something else, a wave crashing over him, dragging him underneath the surface. He can’t see anymore, can only feel, and even that is like it’s not his own body anymore.

It’s like he’s standing in for someone, feeling something happening to someone else.

One thrust. Two thrusts.  _Teeth._  Skin being parted, flesh dragging into his.

_‘Please.’_

“Shh, shh, my precious. Take it. You can take it. Take me, take from me. Feel it.”

He whimpers.

Then there’s nothing but a blinding light, a flash of white that steals everything from him.

When he comes back, it’s to the exact same things as before. But somehow, they’re different. Same cock. Same him. Same fingers. Same skin. His body feels like a mass of liquid, no resistance to Jim’s body, and he can breathe again. 

He can’t remember coming, can’t remember the orgasm that wracked its way through his body, only the feeling of complete euphoria. The bliss that’s setting in all around him.

Jim is still thrusting, still claiming him, still whispering indecipherable words into his skin. His cock never wavers, and that’s almost terrifying, that the man could possibly be so strong when he himself is so weak right now.

He says something to Sebastian. Carves things into his back, with his fingers, with something sharp that he can’t identify, nor can he catch the words. The names. The thoughts that Jim is forcing onto him.

It makes him choke, and he’s crying.

Fingers dig into him harder, an endless pressure against his prostate, and he’s clenching. Every muscle in his body seems to contract around Jim as the man stills.

He’s done, maybe, something, and Sebastian can’t feel it anymore. Can’t feel anything. He’s not empty, but nor is he full, and he’s breathing. In. Out.  _Please. I need you._

It washes over him, clenching, desperate, and he’s being turned over.

_Please. Love me. Never leave me._  
  
Lips against his. A tongue pressed into his mouth, tasting him. He moans weakly. “Jim, please.”  
  
 _“Shh, darling. Don’t speak.”_  
  
His eyes close.


End file.
